


Shadowtime

by HoodedAndromeda



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Emotional Abuse, Mentions of Violence, Original Characters - Freeform, Platonic Male/Female Relationships, Shadowtime, Siouxsie Sioux - Freeform, Siouxsie and the Banshees - Freeform, creative writing, mentions of abuse, original short story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 12:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15707190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoodedAndromeda/pseuds/HoodedAndromeda
Summary: An original short story by HoodedAndromeda"'Have you ever killed a guy?' After that night, it became a question she teased him with all the time. Sasha knew as well as anyone that the only time August could stomach gore was in the context of films when he knew it was all latex and corn syrup. To her, the prospect of weak-stomached Augie killing so much as a spider was so farfetched it could only ever be a joke. August had always thought the same thing."





	Shadowtime

**Author's Note:**

> This was an original short story I wrote for my Creative Writing class last term. I'm very proud of it, but I've been hesitating to post an original work anywhere... I hope you guys enjoy it, I worked very, very hard on this story.

Sasha leaned back in the passenger seat of August’s car, tracing lingering raindrops with her index finger. “Hey, Augie?” Her birdsong voice interrupted Siouxsie Sioux, prompting August to turn down the volume and cuing her to continue, “Have you ever killed anyone?”

 “What’s that?” Believing he had misheard the question at first, he glanced at her and realized the joke when he saw she was grinning at him.

“Have you, Mister Horror Movies, ever killed a guy?” Her tone was lighthearted as she leaned forward, pressing flat palms to the dashboard. August snorted.

“Uh, yeah, no.” Sasha feigned shock, gasping dramatically.

“ _What?_ You liar! I bet you have a body in the back of your car  _right now_!”

“Shut up!” Laughing, August shoved his best friend’s shoulder playfully. Sasha pushed him back, her smile bright enough to shame moonbeams.

“It was the guy who cut us in line at Starbucks yesterday, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t mean I was  _actually_ gonna kill ‘im, you know that!” He shook his head, turning his eyes back to the abandoned stretch of road ahead of them.

“Uh-huh, sure.” Sasha nudged him in the side with her elbow before turning the volume up again and settling back in her seat. When August thought of Sasha, this was how he always pictured her— sitting cross-legged next to him in his car, white sand hair falling in her denim eyes as she laughed. He was overwhelmed by the love he felt for her then, that same warm, protective affection he had for his sisters. August’s most treasured memory was barreling down empty streets at two in the morning with Siouxsie and the Banshees in his ears and Sasha at his side.

_Have you ever killed a guy?_ After that night, it became a question she teased him with all the time. Sasha knew as well as anyone that the only time August could stomach gore was in the context of films when he knew it was all latex and corn syrup. To her, the prospect of weak-stomached Augie killing so much as a spider was so farfetched it could only ever be a joke. August had always thought the same thing.

Not too long after the night of  _have you ever killed a guy?_ , August got a text from Sasha saying she met a guy with  _eyes like a perfect cup of hot chocolate_. Sasha had always loved brown eyes. They rescheduled their regular late Friday afternoon coffee for Thursday, so she could go on a date. August began referring to Sasha's love-interest as "Hot Chocolate Eyes", always in a sigh that made Sasha blush and sometimes earned him an elbow in the ribs. But she couldn't hide the fact that the nickname made her smile, no matter how hard she bit her lip or how well she hid her mouth behind her hand. For a long time, August was happy for her.

Hot Chocolate Eyes took Sasha for a picnic in the park for their first date and she gushed over the fact that he could  _cook, like,_ really _cook!_  and that he had let her teach him how to make off-brand daisy chains out of the tiny purple wildflowers poking out of the grass. For their second date, H.C.E. took Sasha to a local orchestra performance and then bought her ice cream afterwards. After date three at the aquarium and butterfly sanctuary, Sasha began to consider that H.C.E. might be “the one”. After she told him that over a midnight phone call, the first seed of concern was planted in August’s stomach. He stared blankly at the screen of his laptop, not reading the half-written review of this weekend’s blockbuster, worrying his clammy hands.

“It’s only been two weeks, Kid,” he said slowly, trying to pick words that wouldn’t crush her enthusiasm, “you were with Carter for six months and Greg for a year and a half, remember?” She was quiet on the other end, so he cleared his throat. “Just… be careful. I don’t want you to set yourself up for disappointment, a’ight?” He could hear the smile in Sasha’s voice.

“I know, Augie, don’t worry about me,” she chuckled softly, “God, you’re such a  _dad_  sometimes! I can take care of myself, y’know!”  August laughed half-heartedly. He knew she was right, she  _was_ a grown-up. Being two years older than her didn’t really make him any wiser or more mature than her. But he couldn’t help but worry. He knew Sasha, he knew that she wasn’t exactly hard to sweep off her feet, not that that was a bad thing. He just wondered when her devil-may-care attitude would come back to bite her.

Sasha made it official with Hot Chocolate Eyes after two months and organized the first meeting between her best friend and her boyfriend to celebrate. That was the day that he lost his title of “Hot Chocolate Eyes” and simply became Taylor. H.C.E. had been a pleasant (albeit worryingly mysterious) gentleman. Taylor, on the other hand… Sasha had excused herself to use the restroom, leaving the two guys by themselves in the corner of the Starbucks August and Sasha met at nearly every Friday at 4:30.

“She sure is something, eh?” Taylor muttered, watching Sasha disappear into the back of the coffee shop. August scratched at his chin, smiling to himself.

“She’s a dork is what she is.” He expected Taylor to agree with a laugh or a story about something funny she had done. Instead, he ignored the statement completely, leaning forward across the booth’s table and staring August hard in the face. He thought for a moment, that Taylor’s eyes were more like black coffee than hot chocolate.

“You ever fuck her?” Shock smacked August upside the head. He struggled to speak for a moment.

“ _Excuse me_?” He finally choked. Taylor crossed his arms over his chest.

“You heard me.” August couldn’t believe what he was hearing. None of the other guys Sasha had introduced him to had asked him something like this. Sasha always told them they were nothing more than friends.

“Fu— no! No, we’ve never— we’ve never… no. Sasha and I are just friends! That’s how it’s always been. God,” August shook his head hard, biting the back of his hand, “that’d be like… almost be… that’d feel like incest or something!”

“So, what, you gay, then?” August was stunned.

“No, I’ve just never—” Taylor apparently didn’t care.

“Whatever, man. Just keep your fuckin’ distance.” August drew his hand away from his mouth, heart still pounding, though now his brow was furrowed.

“‘Keep my distance’? What the hell is that suppos—” He was interrupted by Sasha’s cheerful return. He considered telling her what Taylor had asked him as soon as they got a second alone. Then he watched her snuggle up to her new boyfriend in the plastic seat of the booth, watched as Taylor took her hand and brought it to his lips. He saw the stars in her eyes and decided to keep that conversation to himself… even though it continued to gnaw at him.

Not long after that, Sasha and August’s 4:30 Friday coffees began to dwindle. It started out slow, first a rescheduling to Thursday at 6:00, then one on Saturday at 8:00am. Then a total cancellation. And another. And another. Every Friday soon became once a month, then once every other month. They hadn’t had a late night Siouxsie and the Banshees traveling concert since she met Taylor. Not that August held it against her. Sasha was in love and he didn’t want to take that from her. Plus, it wasn’t like she had vanished from his life completely. She still texted him almost every day to at least say good morning, and she called him on nights she wasn’t sleeping over at Taylor’s.

On one such night, Sasha woke August up at 1:30am to ask if he could swing by her apartment. He was in his car and on his way in ten minutes. When he saw her, his eyes were immediately drawn to a purple mark on her throat. When August asked about it, she covered it with her hand, her cheeks turning pink as she said it was  _just a hickey_. August couldn’t help but think back to when he had been dating Katherine who had all but dressed him in hickeys, and how Sasha had teased him relentlessly for it. She told him that she’d never be caught dead with a hickey and had pretended to gag herself for emphasis. She thought they were trashy and possessive, as if Katherine was marking her territory.  _If you ever see me with one of those, call an institution ‘cause I’ve clearly lost my mind!_ He tried to press her further, asking in a half-joking (but obviously concerned) manner when she had changed her attitude on “bruiselry”. She just smiled and sheepishly confessed that Taylor liked them. August found himself liking Taylor even less, but let the subject drop when Sasha suggested they watch a movie on Netflix with the lowest Rotten Tomatoes score they could find.

Then came the phone call he never knew he’d been dreading. He had never heard Sasha cry before. It felt like someone had dropped him into a pitch-black pool of ice water. Listening to her sharp, uneven gasps, sloppy and slurred words, and harsh sniffs was like drowning and freezing at the same time. He tried desperately to calm her down, speaking in soothing tones and doing his best not to let on that there were tears welling up in his own eyes.

“Sasha, Sasha, Kiddo, it’s going to be okay, a’ight? I’m here for you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.” Another violent cry. It sounded like she was coughing up her own throat.

“He-he-he h-he s-sai-said… he said… he-e-e said he was gonna k-kill… gonna kill… gonna kill himse-e-elf!” August’s blood ran cold.

“ _Who_ said that?”

“Taylor!” August took a deep breath, looking down at his hand on his knee. It was shaking.

“Why did Taylor say he was going to kill himself?” Sasha took some time to respond. It sounded like she was trying to steady her breathing.

“He said…” she sniffed, “he said that… that, um, before… um, before he met me he was gonna… he has a gun, and he was gonna… but then he, uh, he met me, and…” She went quiet again and August waited for her to gather her thoughts, all the while his trembling hand’s grip on his knee was growing tighter. “He said if I… if I leave him, he’ll… he’ll…” She began to cry again, more quietly this time, and sometime that hurt more than the sobs.

“…Do you want to leave him, Sasha?” August asked gently.

“ _No!_ ” Sasha’s answer came out rougher than she meant it and she swallowed before continuing, “No, I love him, it’s just— well, we just— we just had a fight, is all.” Her voice was so small, so unlike the larger-than-life Sasha he knew and loved so well.

“About what?” His voice was hoarse.

“…It’s personal, August. It’s… look, Augie, I’m sorry. I overreacted, I shouldn’t have…” He didn’t know what to say. Overreacted?  _Overreacted?_ Her boyfriend had threatened suicide, her reaction was perfectly natural! What was she supposed to do, shrug it off and go to bed as normal? His knuckles were turning white and his skin ached were his nails dug in through his pajama pants. For a moment, he wished Taylor would make good on his threat and put that gun he supposedly had in his mouth… until he thought about how hard Sasha would take it. “Augie…?” Sasha whispered. August snapped back to attention.

“I’m here. Look…” He released his knee from his death grip, “I’m here for you, Kiddo. Please, just… Please let me know if you need anything.”

Apart from hickeys, which Sasha now tried to cover with makeup anytime she knew she was going to see August, he saw no other marks on her body. Of course, that didn't mean they weren't there. Sasha's fashion sense was something that would be considered "tasteful" by most accounts. She often wore dark t-shirts or tank tops under brightly colored flannels, jean shorts, and black Chuck Taylor's that were falling apart. Sensible for Phoenix's typical weather, fairly modest, but never forgoing personality. August feared that Taylor was just as aware of this as he was and made strategic choices based on how she dressed. But Sasha insisted that Taylor never laid a hand on her, that he would never lay a hand on her, and August wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe she was safe, but he knew deep down that she couldn't be. 

Sasha didn't act like Sasha anymore. Her emphatic speech became mousey and instead of laughing at every and any thing that could be even a little bit amusing, she only cracked the slightest of smiles from time to time. Her eyeliner seemed crooked- she had always prided herself on her ability to draw perfect wings before. He attributed this new development to the barely noticeable tremors that plagued her hands. The rare moments that they spent together were always interrupted by Taylor's texts or phone calls, which Sasha could not let go unanswered for even an hour or Taylor would  _worry about me_. 

_Have you ever killed a guy?_  It was the day after the pregnancy scare that August had begun to fantasize about hurting Taylor. Short bursts of inspiration at first, thoughts about punching him in the face and kicking him in the balls. For a while, August could not bring himself to get more violent than that- he told himself it was for Sasha's sake, though in reality it was more the fact that he would make himself nauseous if he thought too much about it. Besides, Taylor was bigger than him. August likely wouldn't stand a chance against him unless he took him by surprise, and even then, he would probably go down fast. 

But the thoughts still came, because everyone who knew Sasha knew she would never get an abortion. She always said that if it happened and she wasn't ready, she'd just give it up for adoption. Thank God she hadn't been pregnant, because Taylor did not share her sentiment. The thoughts still came because Sasha was so skinny now. August could feel her ribs when he hugged her goodbye last time he saw her; he had never been much of a hugger, but now he had to make sure she was still really there.

He had to do something, because he couldn't get her to talk about it anymore and he never knew when he was going to see her next. The thoughts came because when he came to her apartment on her birthday with a box of sour Skittles, a copy of "A Prayer for Owen Meany" (an ex-coworker had borrowed her copy and never given it back), and a card with a picture of Animal from "The Muppets" on it, Taylor had answered the door. Taylor answered the door, and he stepped out into the hall and closed it behind him, so he could threaten August without Sasha overhearing him. August went home with the sour Skittles, "A Prayer for Owen Meany" and the Muppets card. He considered mailing them but thought that Taylor might intercede the package. So he sent Sasha a brief "happy birthday" message over text. 

Sasha had moved in with Taylor a few months ago, and August was not allowed over for reasons Sasha did not know how to explain, even when she called him in a panic because Taylor had not come home. That was when August's fantasizing started to become more elaborate. He began stalking Taylor's Facebook, scrolling through photos of him and friends at bars and college parties he was too old for, clicked through his liked pages, scrolled through his friends list that contained hundreds of people, many of which Taylor probably didn't even know. With the information August now had, he found himself daydreaming more and more about waiting outside Taylor’s favorite bar or workplace with a crowbar or bat and ambushing him. But the daydreams always came to a sudden end when blood spurted from the back of Taylor’s head, because August was suddenly very, very dizzy. And anyway, he could never hurt him in real life. Taylor’s brother was a lawyer, and his cousin was a cop. There was no way he would get away with it. But he couldn’t be arrested for thinking…

Taylor had been gone for a week, hadn’t answered any of Sasha’s calls, only responding once after day three with a short text telling her not to wait up for him. August couldn’t remember how long it had been since they had gone for coffee, but here they were, at 10:00 at night, sitting in their Starbucks. The world beyond the window was dark, points of illumination occasionally passing by in the form of cars. White light filled the coffee shop, creating a fishbowl effect. Anyone could look in through the front window and see the two lone patrons sitting across from one another at a small, round table. August was staring out into the darkness, absentmindedly tapping the tip of a pen against the edge of the table with one hand and running a hand repeatedly through messy copper-brown hair with the other. Sasha was hunched over, her hair, which was long overdue for a trim obscuring her eyes. She looked blankly into her cooling cup of hot chocolate, hands clasped loosely in her lap.  _Cities in Dust_ could almost be heard playing on the shop radio.

“Augie…” Sasha’s voice was hoarse. He turned his attention away from the window.

“Yeah?” He said gently, dropping his hand away from his head and closing it around his other wrist. She sighed, pulling her hands out from under the table and propping her elbows up on its surface so that she could cradle her skull.

“Taylor broke up with me…” she spoke so quietly he had to strain to understand what she was saying. It took a moment to sink in.

“ _What?_ ” August’s voice cracked and he clapped his palm against his mouth, the sharp sound momentarily drawing the attention of the tired barista. “He did? When? Why?” Sasha’s shoulders shuddered. He saw a tear materialize from under her pale hair and crash against the surface of the table.

“A couple… a couple of hours ago, he came…” another tear fell, “he came home and…” She finally looked up at him, and he felt like he had taken a shovel to the gut. “He told me we were done. H-he had met… met someone else, and— and— and I have to… I gotta… I have to… I gotta go.” August looked at the woman sitting across from her, looked at her running mascara and smeared eyeliner, looked at her hollow cheekbones and purple eye sockets, at her hair which should not be as long as it was, at her collarbone sticking out jarringly through her skin, at her thin shoulders draped in in an old blue flannel, and almost didn’t recognize her. He struggled to find the person he had loved as much as his sisters and his mother for the past six— no,  _seven_ — years inside the greying skin of that human shell. His hand shot forward to find hers, to make sure she was really there… and her wrist was so, so small. He looked at the blue veins in her skin and saw her tears pitter-pattering onto their exposed color.

“Oh, Sasha, Kiddo…” it was all he could do not to sob, “what did he  _do_ to you?”

“He never touched me.” Her voice did not hitch, and he could see in her eyes and feel in her pulse that she wasn’t lying.

August was puking into his kitchen sink. He had walked out of his room to get a glass of water and caught a glimpse of Sasha on the couch. She looked so tiny, curled up under a pile of blankets but still shivering. Her older sister was coming over tomorrow. She and he were going to go over to Taylor’s house and collect all of Sasha’s things. Sasha would go home with her sister then, but tonight— and last night— she was here. She had been borderline despondent all day, simply laying on his couch in her pajamas, headphones on and phone gripped to her chest as she stared up at the ceiling, silently counting cracks. He had to remind her to drink water and shower on more than one occasion. He looked at her now, on his couch, face obscured by shadows but posture tense in a way that shouldn’t have been possible in sleep, and he hated Taylor. He stared through Sasha, his mind running away to Taylor’s house with a pair of scissors. It kicked down his door and made its way to his room, finding him in his bed, sleeping peacefully. Not like Sasha. It plunged the scissors into Taylor’s throat. Taylor’s bitter coffee eyes opened, and he tried to scream, but the sound was garbled, and blood was— August turned on his heel, barely managing to catch onto the edge of the basin before he began to retch.

When he was done, he rinsed his mouth out and slumped to the ground, pressing his back against the counter top. He stared down at his still-shaking hands, tracing white knuckles with an index finger, and he began to remember. He remembered the time he had passed out after cutting his finger chopping an apple, when he threw up after witnessing Jeremy break his arm on the monkey bars in fifth grade, when he got dizzy seeing a used tampon that someone, for god knows what reason, had left on the street. He remembered that he had never even been in a physical fight, and he wondered… He had thought about hurting Taylor for months now, and he wondered if he could do it. He wondered if he could overcome this weakness of his, push past the fear of being arrested, prioritize Sasha over his weak stomach. He wondered if he would hesitate. He wondered if he would puke again. He wondered if he could finish the job. But then… but then he thought about Sasha.

He thought about the phone calls, the painful echo of her sobs, words trapped in her heart as she struggled to understand what was happening to her. He thought about that her hands might never stop shaking, that she might never have another full night’s rest, that she might always flinch at any man’s voice. It didn’t matter that Taylor had left Sasha in favor of someone he was more interested in fucking up. He would still linger, his disembodied voice still telling her how worthless she was, how lucky she was that he had cared, that she was selfish and stubborn and couldn’t possibly love him as much as he loved her if she kept denying him. He thought about how faded those blue eyes had looked when she told him that Taylor had left her, and it became perfectly clear to him that he could hurt another human being.

_Have you ever killed a guy?_  The whole drive over, he thought of Sasha. Hilarious, happy-go-lucky, gentle Sasha, who had stayed by his side for seven years. He remembered her on that perfect night, the lyrics to  _Kiss Them for Me_ encircling her cropped hair like a crown and laughing like the whole world existed just for her enjoyment. He roared down the road under a moon that didn’t dare look him in the eye,  _Night Shift_ and then  _Shadowtime_ egging him on, his heart buzzing behind bared teeth. He was doing this for Sasha.

For Sasha. It didn’t matter that the sight of roadkill made his vision go fuzzy, it didn’t matter that he was afraid to cut his fingernails because he was worried he’d slice his skin, it didn’t matter that he couldn’t look when he got a vaccination, it didn’t matter that he couldn’t look at a person eat fried chicken or ribs straight off the bone. It didn’t matter that every time there was a brief moment of silence between one song’s ending and another’s beginning where he began to doubt that this was a good idea. This was something he  _had_ to do! Finally, August pulled up to a house he had only ever seen in pictures and stared into the darkened doorway. He snapped off the radio. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head and gain focus. His hand moved to the handle of the car door. He wanted to open it, he  _tried_ to open it, but… but…

 

But then he thought of Sasha.

 

The sun was rising when he came home. He opened the door of his apartment and saw Sasha sitting there, looking out the window. The soft golden glow illuminated her hair, which she had brushed, and he could see the lyrics to  _Dazzle_ embroidered in her locks.

“Hey.” Her voice left her lips as a whisper, and she turned to face August. He saw little flecks of orange and yellow and pink lighting her irises, and he felt the sun’s warmth in that small smile. It seeped into him slowly, assuring him that he had made the right call after all. “So, where have you been?” She set down a mug of tea on the coffee table, “Out killing guys?”

“Nah,” August shrugged, “just… felt like driving.” Sasha chuckled, and the sound of it was sweeter to him than anything Siouxsie Sioux had ever produced.

**Author's Note:**

> "Turn your wish to a vapor, the silhouette fades  
> Eclipse your blue eyes, and the outline remains  
> From the house of the moon to the stars up above  
> Amidst the comets, first sight of love  
> So begins the countdown  
> Falling sky, a solar sigh  
> It all begins, beneath the skin  
> No-one is near, no-one will hear  
> Your changeling song takes shape  
> In Shadowtime  
> Shadowtime"  
>  \- Siouxsie and the Banshees, "Shadowtime"


End file.
